PTSD
by Brooklyn1918
Summary: Its the Fourth of July, Steve Rogers birthday. But what no one realizes is that the festivitys only bring up old and horrible memories.


Asleep in his bed, Steve thrashes slightly to his nightmares. Explosions and gunfire make his ears ring, and the ringing grows louder and louder until he almost doesn't hear the alarm beeping on his nightstand. He sits bolt upright, and slams his hand down on the small clock to quiet the noise. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he looks to the clock, now in a crushed heap of gears. "Great. Another clock down." He says grumpily.

Swinging his legs out of bed, he stands and stretches his long arms out. Quickly getting dressed ha grabs the broken clock and goes to find Stark.

"Stark, do you think you could make a clock that doesn't break?" He says with a scowl down at the broken metal. "You could try being more gentle with them. What clock is this? Five or six?" Stark asks with a slight snappish superiority. "Seven." Natasha pitches in from the coffee maker. "And happy birthday Steve." She adds, not looking up from her coffee mug. Steve smiles as he sets down the clock, and Tony quickly snatches it up. "Yes, happy day of your birth Captain! We shall go feast under the rockets of lights tonight!" Thor gleefully shouts from across the common area. Steve tenses up at the mention of rockets, but quickly releases that tension through a sigh. "Rockets of lights" was just Thorspeak for fireworks.

Steve has forgotten that it was the Fourth of July, his birthday ironically, seeing as how he was Captain America. It may have seemed unpatriotic to think it, but he had always hated the fourth. He never liked being the center of attention, then with the past few years in the modern world, he had hoped that everyone had forgotten about it. They haven't.

It was a slow day, there was almost nothing to be done, no payrolls to go on, no supervillains to stop, hell, people weren't even speeding. Steve was going absolutely stir crazy, so he grabbed his sketchbook and left for the avengers tower roof. The sky was cloudless, and the streets far below were decked in red white and blue. All in all it was a gorgeous day, but Steve knew better than to think that it was going to stay that way, at least for him. Mindlessly letting his hand wander over the blank page, Natasha sneaks up behind him. She sits on the edge of the roof next to him, and glances at his city skyline on his paper before smiling. "That's great. I think it might need some more chatari though." He looks at her and gives a small, slightly forced laugh. He looks at the small brown box in her hand, before raising an eyebrow at it. She presents it to him, and he takes it, his hands brushing her small ones. Lifting the lid, he lets out a genuine laugh this time. Inside are a pair of dog tags, engraved with his name, and the names of everyone he had lost in his 70 year slumber. He didn't even know why he laughed. Maybe it was because he never expected that Natasha would do something like that. As if reading his mind, "and don't expect me to acknowledge that I was ever this nice to you." She gives his shoulder a squeeze and walks back inside. He smiles as he slips the dog tags over his head, and ticks them into his shirt, holding them close.

Night falls and Steve is still on the roof, legs swung over the edge, watching the people roam around like ants on the New York streets. The door crashes open behind him and he turns around to see Tony and Bruce having some sort of science argument, Natasha Clint and Thor all carrying food, and one of Starks interns carrying what looks like an armload of blankets. The intern skiddishly drops the blankets and bolts out the door again, intimidated by all six avengers. Steve swings his legs back onto the roof and helps the lot set up their picnick. They pull out different salads, and sandwiches, hotdogs and hamburgers, deviled eggs and desserts. Bruce pulls out a cake, and in the normal Tony fashion, he made the time to put on and light 93 candles. Steve laughs along with the group, but begins to become nervous as the time of the fireworks crawls nearer.

The first rocket shoots into the sky with a whistle, and explodes in a shatter of red and blue lights. Steve jumps, and flinches away from the explosion. New York always knew how to party, and with Tony Stark paying for the annual firework show, it was bound to be long. The group stands at the edge of the roof, nearly level with where the fireworks are exploding. Steve backs against the air conditioning unit, feeling his knees buckle. "I have to stick it out. You can be strong." He mumbles to himself. He manages to make it three minutes before he knows he will have a panic attack. He slips through the roof acces door and retreats to his room. Unbeknownst to him, Natasha watches him the whole time, narrowing her eyes as he slips through the door.

Steve stumbles the whole way to his apartment, and once he gets in, he slams the door and sinks to the floor, before speaking. "Jarvis, can you soundproof the apartments from the outside?" The room instantly goes silent from the deafening crashes from outside, but they still echo in his head. The gunshots and the rockets and the bombs, and the bloody screams. They fill his head, and spill out in his tears. He brings his knees up to his chest and clamps his head between them, draping his hands over the back of his head, trying to make himself as small as possible. He pulls out the dog tags tucked into his shirt, and grips them tightly in his left hand.

Natasha drop onto Steve's apartment balcony, and jiggles the latch open, sliding the door open and closed, slipping inside. She had tried the front door, but had been blocked by something leaning on the other side. She strongly suspected that that something might have been Steve. She creeps through his apartment and makes it into the front room, where her suspicions were confirmed as she sees Steve curled in a ball, back pressed to the door. Kneeling in front of him, she puts her hand on his shoulder again. His head whips up and he has a fury mixed into the blue of his eyes. It fades as he realizes who is in front of him, but Natasha can still see it, hiding under the sadness and pain. "What's wrong?" She asks despite the glassy eyed stare. "It's nothing." He says quickly. She scoffs, brushing off the bull shit answer before pressing harder. "Steve. There is something wrong with you, and if I can't get it out of you I will either get the sodium pentathal or Stark. You choose." He gives a shaky smile, one that looks almost painful to give. "Well, truth serum won't work on me, and Stark doesn't scare me. But..." he takes a shallow breath, "it's just like it was 70 years ago. The fireworks sound just like the rockets. And it does nothing but flood back memories of every bloody second." She gives a look of understanding, before scooting to sit next to him. "Steve, you have PTSD, it's nothing to be ashamed of. We all have it to various degrees." He looks at her, questioning in his eyes. "Don't tell me no one explained that to you?" She asks as he shakes his head. "Well than we failed you. PTSD is something you might know as battle fatigue? It's perfectly normal for all you have gone through. But may I ask why you have never shown it till now?" He looks at the ground, and begins to talk. "Well, last July, I had a mission so I missed the fireworks. And on missions I can feel it creeping up on me, but I always manage to push it down until I don't feel it anymore. That's why I always retreat straight to my apartment after missions. I can keep it away as long as I'm holding the shield, but the second I'm back to being Steve Rogers I break down." She nods as she begins to stroke up and down his back, trying to calm him.

They sit there for hours, waiting until after the fireworks are over before they move. They don't speak, they don't look at each other. Eventually the noises in Steve's head quiet enough for them to join their team members. Steve, still a bit shaken, sits at the bar with his head propped in his hand. Natasha goes over to the couches with the other not far away. She glances back at Steve, watching his chest heave slightly. "Did you to have fun?" Tony teases flirtatiously. She gives him a death glare, before answering. "It's nothing like that. But I wouldn't expect you to understand." He snorts as Clint steps in. "In Tony's defense, we all were kinda thinking it." Natasha rolls her eyes and looks to Steve again. "Look at him, he's suffering from PTSD, not from whatever each of you were thinking." They all look over to him now, as Steve's back gives a small tremble. They shut up immediately, and resume a normal conversation.

Steve still remains sentient, lost in thought. The noises have quieted, and he thinks back to a time when everything was so much simpler. He thinks back to when he and Bucky had layed of the hill, both kids watching the fireworks light the night sky. "Those up there are for you Stevie." Bucky would say. Steve would smile and tell him he was full of it. Another time to when him and his mother had been sitting in their small apartment, Sarah Rogers had been cooking sauce, and had let him lick the spoon. The salty tang bounced in his mouth as the hot sauce burned the tip of his tounge. But he would smile and laugh as his mother told him silly stories. He thinks back to when he and Bucky had met. Steve has been covered in mud and scratches, and sitting in a dumpster after having been thrown in. Another brown haired boy had been thrown in next to him, with a bit of blood on his split lip. "Why did you get thrown in here?" He had asked the slightly bigger boy. "Oh I didn't. I knocked out the bully's front tooth then jumped in here to join you. Didn't want ya to be lonely." The boy had smiled a big toothy grin, showing his own missing tooth. Steve let out a sigh as he slumped against the bar. The murmur of his team behind him brought him back to reality. He glances over his shoulder and catches Natasha's eye, giving her a smile, letting her know that he was ok.

Tony slinked up behind the large blond, a small wrapped parcel in his hand. Sliding onto the barstool next to Steve, he pushed the package in front of him, as his head slipped off his hand to look down. "Happy birthday Cap." Tony says with a stifled glee. Steve relinquishes a small smile and opens the gift. Inside is his alarm clock from this morning. "Fixed and enhanced so it can withstand your super soldier morning grumpyness. Hulk tested and approved." Steve snorts, "you better not have had Bruce test that." Tony shakes his head and laughs. He gives him a sharp slap on the back before inviting him to join the group. Steve stands, towering over the brunette inventor, but falls into his shadow as he walks over to the group.

Steve sits surrounded by his team.

He sits surrounded by his friends.

His family.

He might have lost everything so long ago, but he was on his way to getting some of it back. And PTSD or not, he would continue on trying to support his family.


End file.
